


and for eternity

by waterleveldropping



Series: jonelias week 2020 [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dehumanization, Dubious Consent, Eyeball Licking, It/Its Pronouns for Jon, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Other, Post-Canon, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Teratophilia, Worming, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26115160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterleveldropping/pseuds/waterleveldropping
Summary: “Jonah Magnus. I had expected more of you.”“It’s a misunderstanding, please,” Jonah pants, the rush of hearing his own name out of his Archive’s mouth making his heart hammer in this chest. “You’re all I have.”---Jonah and his Archive have all the time at the end of the world to get to know one another.
Relationships: Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: jonelias week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860007
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51
Collections: Jonelias Week 2020





	and for eternity

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt "inhumanity/beholding"
> 
> im not too sure what this is. i wanted to do something prose-y but that didnt happen and i messed about with it a lot but decided to just post it as is. im still not sure how it ended up, but maybe youll like it. so heres *gestures wildly* this. enjoy?

“Please,” a plea, spoken breathless and wanting, and falling on deaf ears. “Let me worship you.” 

Jonah is knelt at the feet of his Archive. This is a ruined world, and the man sitting atop the throne is no longer much of a man at all. It’s a compendium, a tribute to all of Jonah’s hard work spanning centuries, countless hours of worship and dedication and devotion. It doesn’t even look human anymore, multiple arms and a face that is more eyes than any other features. It is more a silhouette than actual man. 

The throne room is large and empty. Hollow wind whistles through the cracked stained glass windows, and the whole room is bathed in a swath of green and yellow light. 

The Archive sits in the center of it all, bored. Its many eyes blink out of time with one another, all different colors and sizes. 

It casts those eyes downward, regarding Jonah the same way one would regard a particularly needy hound. 

Jonah Magnus has been many things in his life, but a servant to The Beholding has always been at the top of that list. Everything else is secondary, an afterthought. Now he finally has his life’s work, the culmination of so many years sitting in front of him, and he wants nothing more than to serve it.

“Come,” says the voice above Jonah. His Archive rarely speaks nowadays, but when it does, the sound is like a song to Jonah. Like centuries of knowledge being whispered and known all with a few syllables.

He situates himself primly between its legs. It scans his face with all its eyes, and Jonah feels himself shudder under the gaze. Being the subject of his god’s attention is so unlike anything else. Jonah is a strange mix of proud, for raising it so well, and delightfully fearful, for what it could do to him at any minute. 

“What do you mean to do?” It asks with that voice that makes Jonah shudder.

Instead of answering, he pushes its thighs further apart. It wears nothing on any part of its body, no discernable features on its body, but Jonah Knows how to please it. He presses ringed fingers to the space between its legs, watching as the being above him buzzes slightly, a few of its eyes closing from being touched. 

Jonah takes this as a good sign, it may not be human any longer, but it can still feel certain sensations. Can still do anything that helps it understand and Know. He rubs at the crotch, smiling when he feels something slimy and cold against his fingers. 

“Is that nice?” Jonah asks, looking up.

“Keep going.” It replies.

He continues, coaxes the appendage out of its sheath slowly, surely. It's wet and moves almost of its own accord, a sheer black tentacle, as dark as the rest of the Archive’s visage. It’s small even at full, but very responsive to any touch. 

Jonah takes it into his mouth, able to get it to just barely touch the back of his throat. It squirms against his tongue. His Archive murmurs something, barely audibly, but when Jonah casts his gaze upward, it's entire form is humming with energy. 

He pulls off, wiping the slick from his lips. 

“Why did you stop?” It asks, not exactly disappointed, but certainly not enjoying the absence. 

“Would you like more?” Jonah replies. His Archive nods.

Bringing his lips back around the organ, Jonah takes it in his mouth again, works his hand around the base of it, and runs his tongue along the underside. That seems to affect it quite a bit, as its multiple arms fly to grip the armrests of the throne it sits on, another tangling in Jonah’s hair. 

Spurred on by the reaction, Jonah takes it deeper into his throat, presses himself flush to its crotch until he feels tears in his eyes, his hot breath mingling with the warmth of his Archive’s body. 

Jonah is hard in his trousers, and it’s beginning to hurt. He pulls off again, but continues moving a hand to stroke at the tentacle as he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down far enough to free himself from his underwear. 

He’s about to pull himself out when an arm grabs his wrist firmly. Above him, it has pitched forward, hundreds of eyes wide. 

“What are you doing.” It says, flatly. Jonah swallows.

“Making sure this worship goes both ways.” He says. “Come now, when have you ever known me to--” 

“This is not about your wants. You are meant to worship unconditionally.” It cuts him off.

“I _am_ worshipping.” Jonah scoffs, only a bit indignant. “You never had a problem before.”

Jonah feels the flare of energy at that, the anger that courses through it. “There is no before,” The Archive narrows its many sets of eyes.

“You _lied,_ ” it says as it scans his expression. “You don’t want to worship. You want to _defile me_.”

It shoves Jonah off of itself, and he only barely avoids hitting his head on the steps to the throne. A heeled boot presses into Jonah’s chest, pinning him to the cold ground. “Spoiled little thing,” it speaks from above him. “Such a pathetic sight. You think only of yourself, don’t you?” 

Jonah swallows thickly. It is so imposing like this, silhouetted by the green hues around the glowing crown, all multitudes of eyes trained on Jonah, and only Jonah. 

“Your worship is perverted, and sick, and useless.” It spits, bringing its body closer to Jonah’s pathetic form. “Jonah Magnus. I had expected more of you.”

“It’s a misunderstanding, please,” Jonah pants, the rush of hearing his own name out of his Archive’s mouth making his heart hammer in this chest. “You’re all I have.” 

The weight of knowing crashes down on Jonah’s torso as it sinks to straddle him. It presses cold hands to his wrists, traps Jonah as Elias had once trapped Jon. It brings itself close to Jonah’s face, so close, but there is no comfort of hot breath. The air smells like old paper and rotting wood. 

It brings a hand to Jonah’s face, presses his eyelids open with two cold fingers. Jonah’s breath catches.

“Wait,” he tries.

“You know better than to blink.” Its voice warns, and then it leans down to open its mouth and press a wet tongue to Jonah’s wide eyeball. 

Jonah moans. He can’t help it. The tongue glides over the entirety of it, presses flat against his pupil and Jonah feels himself growing hard. Tears bud at the corners of his eyes, and his Archive laps them up, still so heavy on top of him. 

With one of its other hands, it brings a finger to lightly press Jonah’s other eyelid open, presses around the corners into the soft skin there, producing even more hot tears that it licks before they get a chance to stain Jonah’s cheeks.

It pulls back to survey the man underneath it, with his red eyes and debauched expression.

Then, it pries Jonah’s mouth open and spits in it. Jonah swallows with a choked sound somewhere between a moan and a whine.

Holding his jaw open, it pokes around his warm wet mouth with more than a few fingers. Jonah’s stinging eyes roll back, and he drools, letting the hands finger his mouth. 

“You have remained mostly human, are you human enough to feel pain?” It asks. 

“I can feel everything you’re doing to me, so, evidently,” Jonah replies after swallowing and regaining use of his mouth. 

“Yes, I suppose you can.” 

It stares at him so unrelentlessly Jonah feels he might cry just from the feeling of being perceived and known. 

“Take me,” he begs. “I want to be yours.”

“If you want this so bad, I will claim you on my own terms.”

A few of its dark hands move down Jonah’s body, a couple unbutton his shirt, and the rest stop at the waistband of his underwear. 

When Jon had undressed Elias, it’d always been with shaking hands and, on more than a few occasions, through tears. His Archive does not waver, however. Its hands quickly remove the few layers of fabric preventing it from accomplishing its goal. 

“Is this what you wanted, you horrible, wretched man?” It hisses, and there is a tinge of betrayal between the anger.

“Yes,” Jonah breathes.

From the eyes on what could vaguely be described as a face fall a few drops of tears, wetting its hands before placing them on Jonah’s cock.

Jonah keens under the touch, brings a hand to softly wipe the last of the tears away from the eyes that still leak. His Archive cries without sound, without sadness. Jonah thinks it's about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in all the years he’s been alive. 

“You belong to me.” It says, its hand rubbing a thumb over the head of Jonah’s cock, his leaking slit.

“You’re perfect. A wonderful, ethereal thing.” Jonah says, breath heavy. “I will remain yours for eternity, as I always have.” 

“Yes, you will.”

“I will,” Jonah repeats, whimpering. “I live to serve you, m-my Watcher, my _Archive,_ ha--” 

“You’ve worshipped for so very long. Was it worth it?” It asks as it quickens its pace.

Jonah writhes. “Of course, of course it was, I’d have no sooner dedicated my life to anything else than you-- god, _please--_ ” He’s close like this.

And Jonah _has_ dedicated his life to this. He’s ruined countless others to get what he wishes, what his god asks of him. No one deserves this as much as him, be it pain or pleasure-- it’s all his.

The Archive is a representation of that, of Jonah’s power and influence. To take someone as pathetic and spineless as Jonathan Sims and form him into the deity before him is not a small task. The Archive is aware of that, knows the reason for its existence.

“Please, I’m going to--” Jonah sobs.

It speaks and the words seem to come from all around him “You did this to me.” It sounds so much like his Archivist that Jonah comes from hearing it.

The deft hands stroke at his cock until he’s limp and shaking. The orgasm is too short for his liking, it always is, he always needs more. No worship could ever be enough to fully satiate the Archive. 

He pants pathetically on the floor, still under it, still being watched even as he comes down from the high. It’s a wonderfully dizzying feeling.

“Clean yourself up.” It speaks, moving off of him. Jonah’s own spunk is all over his stomach and chest, and he sits up, all eyes still trained on him. 

He does, disappearing for a few minutes into the recesses of the dark hallways. When he returns, as he always does, the Archive is perched atop the throne again, Watching. 

“Thank you,” Jonah says. The Archive does not respond.

Jonah takes his spot at its feet, and rests a warm cheek against its leg, and lets the feeling of being watched wash over him happily. 

**Author's Note:**

> the visual i had for monster jon was inspired by [these](https://twitter.com/ceuberia/status/1286325729786056705?s=20) [jon designs](https://twitter.com/emperiocism/status/1275595696201179136?s=20)


End file.
